Page 153 of Micah

Good grief.

One night with this man and I'm already stealing his clothes.

“Oh shit.”

The bar.

Reality crashes back into me.

Patrick.

Those awful men.

The broken bottles.

The shattered furniture.

My stomach knots.

There’s going to be a lot to do today with clean up and I better get a message ready to send out to my employees.

We probably won’t even open—which is going to suck for my bank account..

But nope. I am not gonna think about that now.

Not yet.

I'll think about all of that later.

I'm a business owner. Eventually, I'll have to deal with it.

Figure out insurance.

Repairs.

Everything.

But not before coffee.

Definitely not before coffee.

I brush my hair, working patiently through the tangles until it finally behaves.

Then I head toward the kitchen.

The smell finds me before I find the coffee pot.

Fresh.

Strong.

Perfect.

Micah wasn't kidding.

I pour myself a mug.

Then, open the refrigerator.